


Cure for Boredom: The Handmaid's Tale

by Zoop (zoop526)



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Black Speech, F/M, POV First Person, Romance, Starvation, prisoner
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-01-27 14:41:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1714310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoop526/pseuds/Zoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "Cure for Boredom." While Lynn and Ghrudur prepare to greet their newborn, handmaid Dagmær is put in charge of an unexpected, and most uncooperative, prisoner in Meduseld. He was spared as a courtesy to Ghrudur, in hopes that he would be like the Uruk smith. How wrong they were...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Never a Dull Moment

Azûr staggered to the stream's bank, his back on fire, ears still ringing from the pounding required to set the lash to his flesh. Sinking to his knees, he dipped his hands into the cool water and drank deeply. The trees were thick enough between him and the camp he'd left behind to shield him from prying eyes as he stiffly peeled off his ragged shirt. Not for the first time, he regretted opening his mouth in anything like a challenge to Nauronk.

The small band's leader was huge, even by Uruk-hai standards. He'd led armies in the field during the War, miraculously escaping the Last Battle with the horselords with only a missing eye. Azûr, too, had crawled away from that battle more or less intact, but few others shared their fortune. He knew of none who made it to safety, such as it was in a world suddenly bereft of the Shadow.

He felt it, when the Dark Lord fell, as had they all. Being Isengarders, they hadn't expected to, but there was enough of Mordor in them to send them all into spasms of pain and nightmares that clung to their minds even in their waking hours. Then the Men had come.

Not right away, of course. They'd had their own affairs to nudge into order before they took on the 'duty' of obliterating what remained of the Orc presence. Orcs sought refuge in numbers, setting aside clan rivalries, only to have their tentatively forged alliances severed along with their heads. Azûr heard about these settlements when their destruction was whispered of by a refugee fleeing the wrath of Men. But he only saw Orcs in retreat; never Uruk-hai.

So they kept moving their camp, meandering into the sparsely populated north, hoping to eventually find a place to rest, settle, _live_. That is, Azûr was ever hopeful of such peace. Nauronk dearly wished to take as many whiteskins with him as he could, no matter that such acts brought unwanted attention. Their northward path was often diverted by the stray scent of Men, and Nauronk's obsessive need to slay the source. While such forays supplied them with Man-flesh and kept them fed well enough, once they reached Rohan, the settlements grew farther apart, and lone Men wandering in the open became more scarce.

Though Azûr despised the short stint they spent in Gondor, doggedly following Nauronk's lead and aiming to join with the Dark Lord's forces, he liked Rohan even less. The sooner they left its rolling hills and grasslands behind, the better, to his mind. It was what he and Nauronk clashed about more than once, and what earned Azûr a sound thrashing each time.

He flexed his shoulders, feeling the tightening of his flesh across his back. Some of the wounds were infected, he was sure. The old general was good at what he did, and forbade any from healing the hapless Uruk. Many of the whip lashes were across his shoulders, impossible to treat by himself. All he could do was what he did now; soaking a rag and trickling water down over the tortured skin to relieve some of the pain. When his humiliation was subdued for a bit, he'd return and grovel as was expected. For now, though, he indulged his quiet whimpering.

* * *

Hours later, he returned to camp. Nauronk glared at him but said nothing. The big Uruk did, however, cuff Azûr on the head in passing. Just as a reminder of his place.

"Why you let him do that?" Gimub asked. But he spoke in an undertone, mindful that any sympathy for the Uruk was grounds for like treatment.

"Think I got a choice?" Azûr grumbled sullenly.

Gimub stared at him, blinking. "'Course you got a choice. You could keep yer fucking mouth shut." Shaking his head, he turned away and continued muttering under his breath, "Open yer mouth, get yer ass beat. Close it, get ignored. Don't seem that hard to figure out to me."

"Somebody's gotta think round here," Azûr growled. "Don't wanna go raiding no fucking village. Don't care how close they are, or what spoils he's wanting."

"Yeah, yer the brains, eh?" Gimub snorted sarcastically.

"Just wanna get north, is all," Azûr muttered, rolling his shoulders and wincing. Gimub narrowed his eyes and looked the younger Uruk over.

"Want me to take a peek?" he murmured. "Got some stuff. Nauronk don't need to know about it."

Azûr shot him a hostile glare. "I ain't lettin' you fuck my ass, Gimub," he snarled.

Shrugging, Gimub poked at the campfire with a stick. "Gotta give to get, whelp. Ain't no free ride 'round here. Wanna fester and whatnot, that's yer business."

Azûr snorted with disgust. "It don't hurt _that_ much, _pushdug_ ," he growled.

"Yer lucky Nauronk's more the hittin' kind," Gimub pointed out with a snicker. "Back in the barracks, you'd'uh got yer fill of it and no mistake, little snot like you."

"Not _my_ barracks," Azûr muttered. "Good lads in there. _Pizbûr_ was fair enough. Didn't put up with the kinduh shit _your_ lot got up to."

"Hmph," Gimub snorted, unperturbed. "Wasn't so bad. Better at night, when most of'em was asleep. Get a nice, quiet fuck outta someone then." He smiled wistfully.

"Whiteskins're better," Azûr recalled. "Had one once. Female. Never look at an Orc ass again, you have one'uh _their_ females."

"We weren't all so lucky as _you_ ," Gimub snapped. "Take what you could get, most of the time."

Azûr's brow furrowed, remembering the one time he'd fucked a whiteskin. It was an ugly memory. He'd bragged of his deed later, of course; it was expected. But there was something... wrong about it. He just didn't know _what,_ exactly.

It didn't matter now. Shrugging it off, he stared into the fire and wondered how they were going to make it through another winter. Nauronk's hunger commanded as much as his formidable stature. Last winter, the other three Uruk-hai nearly starved so that _he_ could be satisfied. Even after a reasonably good summer, the lean times of late fall were beginning to tell already. Both Gimub and Azûr were already skin and bones. The smallest of them, Gazbrûf couldn't seem to put on enough weight to hold his own kilt up, and had to cinch it with a rope.

Perhaps Nauronk had been a commander in Isengard, but they were over a year out of that place, long since lost their Master's Voice, and no longer heard the whispers of the Shadow. They'd come from the scattered remnants of their folk, and hadn't known each other at all until the Last Battle and the flooding forced them together. Why did they obey Nauronk, who had done little to earn their loyalty?

They could not afford to do otherwise. He was an officer for a reason. Maybe he abused them, but he'd managed to keep them alive, even though sometimes he took them too close to that fine line over which discovery of their existence and immediate death resided.

A year ago, the excitement of such uncertainty had been envigorating. Now it was a nuisance. The emptiness of their bellies spoke much louder than the need to kill the horselords, at least for Azûr.

It looked to be another spare night, too. Nauronk had taken the meager kills of his followers, a rabbit and a squirrel, and already eaten all of the flesh. What was left was the marrow from the bones; when he tossed them to Gimub and Azûr as an afterthought, the two nearly came to blows, scrambling for the scraps.

Neither spared a thought for Gazbrûf, on watch and deprived of even so little a ration.

As he cracked open a bone and savored the marrow, Azûr's ears pricked and nose twitched. He straightened with alarm, his meal forgotten.

"The fuck?" Gimub muttered, staring in the same direction. Running feet were approaching. The Uruk grabbed the nearest weapon, shoving Azûr's hand away as he reached for the same. They had too few to go around, and Gimub was damned if he'd be the one without a blade.

Nauronk leaped to his feet and unsheathed both his swords. The three Uruk-hai assumed a fighting stance. Azûr trembled, but bared his claws and teeth. It was all he had.

Gazbrûf's thin form burst through the trees into the clearing, a frantic and desperate look on his face. "Men!" he cried. "Comin' this wa-..."

There was a loud _thunk_ that echoed ominously. Gazbrûf's face went slack with surprise, then he fell to his knees. A moment later, he tipped forward and landed face down, an arrow in his back.

The trees erupted with horselords, on foot and brandishing bright blades. Nauronk roared a furious challenge.

" _Throqu matum, ninkriipu!_ " he bellowed, and leaped at the closest soldier.

The clash of swords rang all about Azûr. Two Men circled about the battle and came at him, and his breath quickened in panic. He roared a warning and took a swing at one, but it was easily dodged. He felt the sting of a blade tear open his ragged shirt and slice across his ribs. Instinctively recoiling, he backed away.

He did not notice the two horsemen exchange a look, nor did he see the hand gripping a sword hilt descend. There was a sharp pain in his temple, then blackness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Pizbûr = military rank equivalent to sergeant  
> Throqu matum, ninkriipu! = Eat death, whiteskins!


	2. The Day Nothing Happened

When I came into milady's service, I did not know what to expect. There were many tales being told, rumors of her wantonness, whispers behind hands as eyes watched her walk in the company of her Orc. All were certain Éomer King had gone mad, allowing them house room in the Golden Hall itself.

Even those such as myself, who remembered her brief stay during the war, could not fathom the depravity she must possess, to lie abed with one of _them_. She'd seemed strong-willed then, more fiercely so now. I could not help but admire her, in spite of all else.

I began tending to her needs at the behest of Erna, who had trained me to assist in all manner of healing duties. The first time I was in their room with the Orc, I could not bring myself to look upon him. A quick glance was all I could bear, for even his gentlest expressions filled me with fear.

Yet I had no choice. I was not from a family of any means, and so could not choose my employment. In truth, until the day when Erna called me to this duty, I had no reason to complain. I served the Lady Eowyn herself, until that day she disappeared from Dunharrow along with the men marching to Gondor. Soon after her return to Edoras, she departed for the last time in the company of Lord Faramir, her husband. I remained in Rohan, for I am Rohirrim, and I do not wish to be anywhere else.

There were no ladies in need of a maid in Meduseld for the longest time, it seemed, until the winter _they_ came. I was assigned within days of their arrival, and dreaded that first moment in the Orc's company as though walking to my own execution.

To my surprise, he was quiet. He kept his head bowed and his eyes down. He had frightening eyes, and I found myself glad of his concession. He never spoke to me or came near me, and eventually I was able to manage, though I feared being alone with him.

A few months ago, I was in their room while he was at Holger's forge. Milady Lynn was scratching away at a parchment, composing a letter to the King of Gondor, of all people! She was gone with child by the Orc, her belly beginning to show. Though many thought poorly of her for it, I could not. She was a good woman and kind. I simply... overlooked the making of the child. I was young, only having sixteen summers, and still believed any child a blessed gift. Yet I dreaded the coming of hers... and _his_ , for there would be no mistaking how it came to be.

By that time, however, I already considered her a great lady, for she had done brave deeds for Rohan during the war, and was always friendly to me. It was strange to be considered the equal of a woman who wrote casual missives to kings, yet she seemed to think of me as such. She wanted me to call her simply Lynn, and huffed with impatience when long habit made me forget. She took to calling me by my childhood nickname, Dagga. My younger brother was never able to say Dagmær and bequeathed me with a much easier name. I suspect Lynn had as much difficulty as he did.

It was an unseasonably cool day. The Orc was at the forge, and would be there at least another hour. I'd brought out the tub and ordered water delivered to fill it. Most folk unknowingly commented on his filthiness, yet I found him to be just the opposite. Every day, he wanted a bath to scrub away the sweat and soot of the forge, even before he took his evening meal.

The windows were open, the breeze undoing what the late autumn heat had done to the room. I was about my duties, exchanging the spent linens for crisp and clean, when Erna arrived to fetch Lynn for a walk.

"You have been cooped up for weeks," the woman chided. "The exercise will do you good."

"All right, all right, don't rush me," Lynn grumbled, and rose stiffly from her chair. "Please tell me feeling like crap is all part of the wonders of motherhood," she added, rubbing her back.

"Tis a blessing in disguise," Erna told her. I could hear the amusement in her voice, and see the small quirk of a smile on her face.

"That is one stupid-ass disguise," Lynn observed. "Why can't the boys dress up like this? Or at least get my hemorroids. That would be nice. I could deal with that."

"Come along now," Erna laughed, taking milady's arm. I smiled to myself as they left.

I was at work removing her clothing from the closet to air them out when _he_ returned unexpectedly. I was so startled that I turned and looked at him fully. He did not immediately look away, likely as startled by my presence as I was by his.

I noted his weariness to begin with. Glances I had taken furtively over the last several months told me of his height and build; today his shoulders drooped and his back was bent. His short, sweaty hair was standing up in places where he must have shoved a hand through it. When he looked at me, I stood frozen in terror.

He simply nodded in what must have been polite acknowledgement of my presence, and went to the washstand. He took up the white pitcher and filled the matching bowl. Bending down, he scooped up handfuls of the cold water and poured them over his head. I could hear his groan of relief.

When he was satisfied, he leaned on his hands over the bowl and let the water drip. He took deep breaths, filling his lungs, and released them steadily. I did not learn until later that he had overheard hurtful words said about milady, and Holger kindly allowed him the remainder of the day so that he might calm himself.

At the time, I only desired a reason to be quit of his presence, and hurried off to the kitchens to ask for the water for his bath to be brought as quickly as could be managed. It was a brief respite; there was still work to be done in their rooms, and so I was obliged to return.

He was sitting leaned back in a chair, his boots taken off, his head resting on the chairback. It was the first time I had seen his bare feet, and I was arrested by the sight of the same claws on his toes as were on his fingers.

It came to me in a blushing rush that _those hands_ worked upon milady's body, and were _welcome_ to do so. I did not know what to think, for my mind had gone blank.

Thankfully, the kitchen servants arrived with bucket after bucket, filling the tub with steaming water. I found myself hurrying through my duties, not even attending to what I was about, so desperately did I wish to depart before he availed himself of the bath. It was common among those above us to ignore our presence and simply go about their business. I expected he would do the same.

To my surprise, he did not rise from his chair. I felt his eyes on me, and turned slightly, expecting a leer or an invitation. There were maids I'd known who told of Men who pressed their advantage upon a servant; it seemed more likely of an Orc.

His expression was one of waiting... waiting for me to leave, I realized. I swiftly hung out the last of milady's trousers to air, then headed for the door. I had to pass by him, and half expected him to grab my arm. The fear was deep in me that he would do some mischief upon my person.

"Thank you, Dagga," he said in his harsh-sounding voice. I was so surprised, I stopped and stared at him. One side of his mouth twitched up in a rueful smile.

It was the first time he had said _anything_ to me. Usually he kept his distance and his silence. For the first time, I understood how much he wished to put me at my ease, and how hard it was for him to do so, being _what_ he was. I also realized I had not made it any easier for him, ignoring what was before me and only seeing what rumor and history told.

So it was on that day that I faced the Orc and curtsied. Though my voice was hoarse from only recently set aside fear, I said, "You are most welcome." I began to turn away, then added, "Ghrudur." His smile broadened slightly, encompassing his full mouth, and twinkling in his yellow eyes.

They did not seem quite so intimidating after that day.


	3. An Unexpected Guest

While I could not completely set aside my nervousness around Ghrudur after that day, the months that passed since then were considerably less tense. He still rarely spoke to me, but he worked long hours at the forge and often went to bed shortly after his supper. Some evenings when I was by, bringing warm milk to milady to ease her sleep, he was already abed and snoring softly. The sound put me in mind of a hound's warning growl, yet with the constancy of his breathing, seemed less threatening after a time.

It was on these occasions that I saw more of the Orc than I cared to, though not so much as to shock me. He wore no night shirt; only loose linen breeches. Very often, he lay with his back to the room and the candlelight. The first time I stole a glance at his sleeping form, I was stunned by the number of marks I saw upon his back. I had heard rumors of his captivity, but never beheld the evidence of it.

Perhaps because of my growing acceptance of him, I found myself feeling revulsion for the torture of his flesh, not because the flesh was an Orc's.

There came a day when the air was crisp with the promise of winter, the clouds heavy with unfallen snow, that a guardsman arrived at milady's chamber door begging an audience with Ghrudur.

"Beg pardon, miss," he said politely to me. "Would Ghrudur be about? There is... a need for his assistance."

"He is already left for the forge, sir," I replied. "Milady is here; is there something she may do for you?"

The young man looked uncertain and nervous. "Perhaps... she might give advice on the matter, yes," he finally conceded after much thought. Nodding, I bowed him into the room and announced him to Lynn.

By this time, she was awkward and heavy with Ghrudur's child. Erna had been trying to convince her that bedrest would ease her discomfort, but Lynn refused. I found myself as much company for her as guardian; I kept her mind on other things besides attempts at escape from the midwife's orders. I was teaching her to knit, among other things. I must say she was eager to learn, but not a particularly quick study, as though such tasks were entirely new to her.

When the man entered, she rose unsteadily and faced him.

"Is something wrong, Oswin?" she asked, her brow furrowed with concern.

"Indeed, milady," he replied with a short bow. "There were complaints of attacks east of here; Wymond took a group of Riders, not a full _eored_ , but a dozen veteran _eorlingas_ to investigate. They found Orcs, ma'am."

Lynn closed her eyes and bowed her head, nodding in acknowledgement. She appeared deeply saddened by this news, yet forced herself to speak. "How many?"

"There were only four," Oswin said quietly. "They were not... quite Orcs, ma'am. They appeared to be Uruk-hai."

Milady's head shot up and she fixed the man with a startled look. "Are they dead?"

The guardsman frowned, looking uncertain whether to tell this news to Lynn or hold it for Ghrudur. After a moment, he said, "Not all of them, no. One was spared. Two of the men knew Ghrudur, for they often have their horses shoed by Holger..."

"Never mind that, what happened to the one who was spared? Where is he? What was done with him?" Lynn blurted.

Fidgeting even more, the guardsman said, "He was brought back... in chains, ma'am. There are holding cells beneath this very hall; he is within one."

"Why didn't you say so?" Lynn snapped. "Dagga, get my shawl."

"No, ma'am!" Oswin insisted, positioning himself in the doorway. "You should not go down there. He is unable to speak any language but Orkish and has been so violent since his capture that he is chained to the wall of his cell. He cannot be trusted."

"Don't think for one minute I'm going to stay up here and let the bunch of you do a ham-fisted job of dealing with a cornered, frightened Orc," Lynn told him sternly. She quite literally pushed the man away from the door. "And don't worry about the language thing; I speak it just fine. I can talk to him."

"But Ghrudur should really be the one...," Oswin began, only to be cut off by Lynn's brisk tone.

"I like you, Oswin, so I'll restrain myself from telling you to blow it out your ass," she growled. "Take me down to the _god damn_ dungeon _now!_ "

Lynn pulled the slightly misshapen shawl she'd made about her shoulders and urged Oswin to lead us down. I confess I had grown so accustomed to being on hand for milady that I did not even question; I simply followed in her wake.

The holding cells were damp and chill. A long corridor stretched from the foot of the stairs into darkness. Only a few guttering torches lit the first half dozen cells, arrayed on either side of the hall. Though the walls were lined with well-fitted stone bricks, a few were crumbling with age. I dearly wished I had brought my own shawl, so cold was it there.

I heard the Orc's voice before I ever laid eyes on him, and found that I could go no further. Though I did not know _what_ he was roaring at the top of his lungs, the sound of it was brutal and violent. His tone did nothing to soften his words. The mere _sound_ of his tongue felt like physical blows upon my ears.

" _Mâdr-izish! Mauk-izish! Azubuk-izg!_ " The sound of chains rattling wildly punctuated each word.

"You should not have come down," Oswin repeated in an undertone, giving milady a pleading look. "Cyneric and Eadwig thought he ought to be given a chance, as Ghrudur had been, but..." The man shook his head. "He is not like Ghrudur."

"What do you expect?" Lynn huffed. "They're not all the same, any more than I'm the same as you." Taking a deep breath, she seemed to calm herself. "I'm sorry. What your friends did... Why was he spared? What happened?"

"I do not know all the details, I am afraid," the man replied apologetically. "I only know there were four of them, and he was the only one who was unarmed. The other three... I am afraid they fought hard. Two of the men were lost before they were taken down."

Lynn nodded, then sighed. "All right." She gestured for Oswin to lead the way.

I could not make myself follow, and so only listened. The Orc continued to spew filthy-sounding words; he only paused for a moment when he beheld his 'visitor.' I leaned against the wall and hugged myself.

" _Latu thrakuz-izish sharlob htolat agh throquat. Gaakh nar ghashnat tark kulat skrithûrzu ish-ulub-uz_ ," the Orc hissed. His tone made me cringe. Quite suddenly, an unexpected retort was delivered by Lynn! I confess, I was shocked.

" _Gûkrat pu-lab, nanulg gûkub-izg ta bag-sha!_ " she barked.

A dead silence followed Lynn's response, and I wondered if the Orc was stunned. I almost allowed a very unladylike giggle to escape, so amused was I by the thought of the Orc's expression upon hearing his own abuse thrown back at him.

"I think I can take it from here," Lynn told the guardsman wryly. "Has he been fed? Given water?"

"Nay," Oswin replied. "None feel inclined to get near him. Unarmed he may be, but he has been in a fury since he woke."

"Woke? What do you mean?" I caught the worry in milady's voice, and my own brow creased in sympathy.

"Eadwig was obliged to strike him," Oswin said apologetically. "He remained unaware for most of the ride to Edoras, but once he realized he'd been taken alive, he made things... difficult."

I was itching to see this Orc, quite suddenly. There must be _something_ about him that urged milady's pity rather than disgust. My momentary curiosity was stifled when he resumed his earlier tirade.

" _Throquub-izg lat agh dâg koluz lat-irzi! Azub-izg hinash amirz skaatat lat dhog-izish! Az-izish nanulg mâdr-izish! Âdhn rad!_ "

While I trembled in the corridor and chewed my lips in fear, milady spoke as one who could not be ruffled by anything. "He's a real charmer, isn't he?"

"Éomer King is unsure what to do with him," Oswin replied. "He does not feel quite comfortable slaying the beast now that he is here, but... he is not like Ghrudur."

Milady sighed. "No, and he won't be if this goes on much longer. He needs to eat, _badly_. I'm not surprised they took him down without much of a fight; there's almost nothing to him. A good gust of wind would knock him over." Lynn and Oswin emerged from the cell.

"Dagga, run up to the kitchens and fetch some meat for him," she told me. "Raw, maybe a pound, and some bread. Fresh water, as well." I curtsied and all but ran from the dungeon. I heard an argument starting up behind me as I closed the great wooden door; Oswin was evidently not keen on her ladyship feeding the Orc herself.

Nor was I. My hands shook as I went to the cook and begged a bit of meat from the larder.

"What's it for?" she snapped rather waspishly.

"I do not have time for explanations, Siri," I told her. "Milady calls for meat and bread. That is enough for you."

Sigrid did not agree and clutched my arm painfully. "Enough of your cheek, little girl," she snapped. "If it's for that _nieten_ , you'll have the scraps from the servant's share and nothing better."

"It is not!" I cried, wrenching my arm free. "You would not be so cheeky yourself if milady was here!"

I ducked her backhand, but was not quick enough to save my ear from a twisting. "Mind yourself, brat. Maybe you were Lady Éowyn's maid, but serving that brazen hussy ain't a step up. You'll take what I'm inclined to give and be glad of it."

Biting my lip against a scathing remark, I did as I was told. Sigrid was simply a horrible woman, even before her husband was lost in Gondor. I knew it would be Lynn who chided me most if I got on the bad side of the cook. _She's not going to like me or Ghrudur, no matter what_ , she'd say. _Better to just keep our heads low and not piss her off._ I confess I am not entirely sure what milady says some of the time, for her words are often strange.

It was an embarrassment to present such meager fare to milady – the meat was mostly fat and the bread was at least a day old and hard – but I hastened with my burden down to the cells. Thankfully, she and Oswin were in the corridor; I would not be forced into the Orc's cell to deliver his meal.

"Thanks, Dagga," Lynn said, taking the tray. She eyed the contents then raised her eyebrows at me. I cringed sheepishly. "Sassed the cook again, did you?"

I could only shrug. Though she chuckled, I still felt thoroughly chastised.

"All right," she said with a deep sigh. "I'm going in. Cover me." Oswin and I exchanged bewildered glances, at which she huffed with impatience. "Come on, Oswin." Together, they went into the cell.

To hear her words describing the Orc's state, I anticipated gratitude for being provided a meal. Her words implied he was thin and in need of sustenance. I was wrong. More filth erupted from his mouth, and though he was chained to the wall, as Oswin described, he still possessed enough movement to knock the tray to the floor.

" _Nork bag-lab kraat-ghaara-izish! Lat narpaash tabzat-izish! Nartabzub-izg lat-irzi! Az-izish! Dhûzud az-izish!_ "

"Lady!" Oswin cried. "Are you all right!" My heart leaped into my throat; what had the Orc done?

"I'm fine," Lynn snapped. "Just caught me off guard, that's all."

"You should not have gotten so close to his mouth..."

"I don't know how in the hell I was supposed to avoid it," she retorted. " _Tugl za urzkû, agh âdhnub-izg throquûrz lat. Za kulat ur lat nargzab?_ "

" _Urgai aaps-lab pugh-ishi-lab! Ukh kraat-ghaara-izish! Âdhn-izish tul. Dhûzud âdhn-izish._ "

"All right," Lynn said quietly. I was rather startled, and wondered again what was happening in that cell. But there was no power in this world or the next that would make me look. "I think he needs to calm down, and us standing around staring at him isn't helping. You said they brought him in only last night?"

"Yes, ma'am," Oswin said as they removed themselves from the cell and he locked the door. "He has been like this all night."

She nodded. "It shows. He's exhausted. Whether he wants to admit it or not, he's scared to death too." She chewed her lip for a moment, looking at the heavy door of the Orc's cell as though she could see through the wood. She shook her head. "I'll talk to Ghrudur when he gets home tonight, see if he's up to talking this guy in off the ledge. He's... funny about other Orcs. I'm not sure he'll be willing, but I can try."

"What shall we do in the meantime?" Oswin asked.

Sighing, milady said, "I'll have to come back in a couple hours and try again, I suppose. He's _got_ to eat. He looks like one of those kids they show on infomercials so you'll fall over yourself sending money to them. Just... skin and bones. I can't believe he even _tried_ to fight. Were the others in as rough shape as he is?"

Oswin's brow furrowed, trying to remember what was told to him. I found my eyes going back to the cell door, wondering about this Orc even more.

"There were three others, as I recall from Eadwig's report," he said slowly. "One was huge and was very difficult to defeat. He must have been the leader. As for the other two... not much different from him."

Lynn nodded again. "I thought as much. They can be pretty... hmmm... selfish at times. Times being what they are, their leader must have considered himself to be the most important one and snagged all the food. Likely what the other three caught for him."

"If things were so unfairly managed, why would they endure it to the point of starvation?" Oswin asked.

"What choice have they got?" Milady replied. "Honestly, what choice have we _given_ them? They either hang out with someone who sucks and takes advantage of them, or they die."

Snorting with impatience, Oswin countered, "But we can provide better here. We _spared_ him. We offer him food and drink. We would care for his wounds if he would let us near..."

"How is he supposed to know all that?" Lynn argued. "Why should he believe it? A bunch of Riders came at his camp and slaughtered everyone in front of him. What in hell _should_ he think?"

"If he understood our tongue, we could _tell_..."

"Oh, he understands it, trust me," Lynn interrupted. "He knows everything we've said, and likely knows everything we're saying now. _He doesn't trust us_. He's not _going_ to trust us anytime soon. He has _no reason_ to."

"Perhaps if he saw Ghrudur..."

"Maybe," Lynn shrugged, and headed back down the corridor and the door to the main hall. "It's worth a try. Hard telling what he'll think of _that_ , though."

As I followed them from the cells back into the fresher air, I could not help but wonder myself. If I were taken captive by my enemies, would I be quick to embrace any offer of peace or comfort? Or would I seek to protect myself in any way I could, in hopes of regaining my freedom?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Apologies for the inconveniently placed translations, but Dagmær doesn't understand what they're saying, so neither do you. :) Until you look down here.
> 
> Translations:
> 
> nieten = beast (Anglo-Saxon)
> 
> Mâdr-izish! Mauk-izish! Azubuk-izg! = Free me! Fight me! I will kill you all!
> 
> Latu thrakuz-izish sharlob htolat agh throquat. Gaakh nar ghashnat tark kulat skrithûrzu ish-ulub-uz! = You brought me a woman to fuck and eat. Let it not be said humans are cruel to their enemies.
> 
> Gûkrat pu-lab, nanulg gûkub-izg ta push-sha! = Shut your mouth, or I'll fill it with shit.
> 
> Throquub-izg lat agh dâg koluz lat-irzi! Azub-izg hinash amirz skaatat lat dhog-izish! Az-izish nanulg mâdr-izish! Âdhn rad! = I will eat you and the child you carry! I will kill anyone who comes near me! Kill me or set me loose! Leave now!
> 
> Nork bag-lab kraat-ghaara-izish! Lat narpaash tabzat-izish! Nartabzub-izg lat-irzi! Az-izish! Dhûzud az-izish! = Take your shit away from me! You can't own me! I will not be owned by you! Kill me! Just kill me!
> 
> Tugl za urzkû, agh âdhnub-izg throquûrz lat. Za kulat ur lat nargzab? = Try that again, and I'll leave you hungry. Is that what you want?
> 
> Urgai aaps-lab pugh-ishi-lab! Ukh kraat-ghaara-izish! Âdhn-izish tul. Dhûzud âdhn-izish. = Put your meat in your ass! Get away from me! Leave me here. Just leave me.


	4. The First Battle of the War

When milady descended into the dungeon once more at midday, Oswin and I in her wake, things had not improved. The Orc struggled against his bonds and shouted what must have been provocative curses.

I still could not bring myself to look into the cell, though his continued resistance worried me.

The Orc growled and snarled, shouted and barked, yet milady endured it without responding in kind. At least not in the same language. Listening to _her_ words, I began to get a sense of _his_.

"I am _not_ trying to _poison_ you!" she cried after a particularly long tirade. "If I wanted you dead, I could take a knife and finish you. It's not like you're in a position to stop me. Why the hell would I _poison_ you?"

" _Lat nargzab honat nûl kraiat-izish!_ " the Orc barked.

"I'm trying to _keep_ you from suffering, as hard as I can, and you aren't making it easy," she hissed. Then her voice turned pleading. "Please... drink some water, at least. You will _die_ if you don't."

His language sounded so hateful, so angry, I wondered if he used it to express how he was feeling, more than to simply place a barrier between himself and us. How in the world were we supposed to calm him? I had no answers. While I fretted and worried, the confrontation continued until milady left the cell looking quite beaten down.

Leaning against the wall as Oswin locked the door and the Orc continued roaring at the top of his lungs words I did not want to know, Lynn covered her face with her hands. I rushed to her and touched her shoulder.

"Milady," I urged softly, "please come upstairs and rest."

She looked to be on the verge of tears, and her hands went to her belly. "Dagga, I don't know how to reach him. He's... he's getting weaker. I don't know if he even realizes what this shitty attitude of his is costing him."

"We will try again later," I promised. She seemed to be despairing, and I felt helpless to cheer her.

"Yeah," she nodded. "Later." I supported her as we returned to her rooms.

Lynn's worry over the Orc did not escape Erna's notice. The midwife finally put her foot down.

"Get yourself to bed this instant!" she cried. "Dagga, help me." Together we put milady into her dressing gown and placed pillows around her in the bed.

"Stop your fussing, I'm fine!" Lynn protested, swatting at our hands, but Erna, bless her, could not be deterred. Soon enough, milady was comfortably enveloped in a pillowed nest, her feet propped up. Erna nodded with satisfaction, seemingly oblivious to Lynn's sour expression.

"You are not getting up from that bed until your little one arrives, and that is _final_ ," Erna declared. Narrowing her eyes at Lynn, she added knowingly, "Except to relieve yourself, and only in your own necessary! You'll not use nature's call as your excuse to wander."

"I am _not_ staying in bed for months!" milady cried indignantly.

"You most certainly are," Erna replied firmly. "Ghrudur's child is larger than most; such a thing takes a toll on a woman's body. Be still and calm, and the birth will go easier. Worry yourself into a state, and you do harm to yourself _and_ the child."

"Dammit," Lynn grumbled. I fought to suppress a most unladylike giggle as she crossed her arms over her chest and pouted like a child. But she grew serious, and her brow creased with worry. Her eyes turned to me, and I sobered immediately. "Dagga, could you... God, I hate to do this." She worried her brow with a pale hand. "Could you try? Just... see if you can make some headway. I swear, if you're even slightly uncomfortable about going down there, I'll understand. I'll figure something out..."

"Of course, milady," I nodded without thinking. "His condition worries you; I am honored you trust me to look after him on your behalf."

"I sure as hell don't trust the guards," she muttered. "I'm sure they're honorable enough, but this is... this is something different. I think the situation calls for a different approach, though I'm not ruling out force-feeding the little bastard if he doesn't get his shit together."

While I admire milady and defer to her wisdom, there are times when her words are so scandalous that I can't help but blush. "I will do my best," I assured her.

"If he gives you crap, you give it right back," she advised. "Don't let him walk all over you."

"I'm... I'm sure I won't know if he does 'give me... erm... crap,' milady. His tongue is not known to me."

"Yeah, well, we can fix that," Lynn declared. My eyes widened.

"Oh no, you don't," Erna interjected. "You'll not be teaching any of the girls under my charge that filthy tongue! If Westron is good enough for Ghrudur to speak, it's good enough for yonder beastie."

"All right, all right!" Lynn cried. "No teaching Orcish, then. Fine. Even if it would _help_."

"Didn't you say that he understood our tongue?" I pointed out timidly. Much as I wished to help, and ease the suffering of that poor creature, I did not particularly want to boast knowledge of such an ugly language.

Lynn sighed impatiently. "Yes, he does. He must. There's no way an Uruk would've made it five minutes in Saruman's army without it. That old douchebag sure as hell didn't speak Orcish with them."

"Then, perhaps it is not... quite necessary?" I hesitantly suggested, hoping all could agree on that at least.

"All I can see it 'helping' is informing this innocent child of the filth spewing from his mouth," Erna sniffed disdainfully. While I was slightly put out by the reference to my age, I chose not to make note of it. To a woman of mature years, my bare handful must forever make me a child to her eyes.

Nevertheless, it was decided that I would descend to the cells at evening mealtime and attempt to coax the Orc into accepting nourishment. I spent the better part of the afternoon in mounting terror of that first meeting.

I was assisting milady with her latest knitting project, keeping herself busy in her convalescence, when Ghrudur returned from the forge. He was weary and blackened with soot; I swiftly set about laying a bath for him. While I directed the filling of their tub, Lynn broke the news of the Orc belowstairs. Ghrudur's advice for handling the wretch shocked us both.

"What did you say?" Lynn hissed incredulously.

"You hear me," Ghrudur snarled. His sharp teeth and formidable tusks were bared; I confess, the display urged me to retreat in fear of his wrath. He threw his stiff leather apron onto a nearby chair. "You say he fights. He curses. He spits." Shaking his head, Ghrudur growled, "Kill him."

"Nobody's going to kill him, Ghru," she insisted. My ears heard an unspoken 'yet'; I wondered if his did also. "They spared him because of _you_. At least talk..."

"No talk!" the Orc bellowed, rounding on her. "Talk no good. Uruk don't listen. He will do what _Master_ tells him, not whiteskins."

"None of you hear your Master anymore," she pointed out. "You certainly don't."

"Doesn't matter," he growled, pacing the floor in agitation. "Master's Voice was all we knew. It will be all he remembers. Better for all if he dies."

"I'm afraid I can't stand aside and let that happen," Lynn stated firmly. "If I'd had that attitude last year, we wouldn't be where we are now."

"You would not be cursed by friends, you would not be carrying _baalak_ bastard, I would be dead like the rest of my people, and all would be well!" he roared. His words left shocked silence in their wake, and I could not be certain they were words he had wanted to speak aloud. His face twitched as though he were just as surprised as milady, sitting up in their bed with her hand covering her mouth, her eyes wide.

"Ghru," she whispered shakily. "Do you... do you really feel this way?"

"Doesn't matter," he mumbled, turning away. He began unlacing his tunic. "Get out, Dagga," he said shortly, and I blinked with surprise. Realizing he intended to avail himself of the bath, I curtsied swiftly and made a quick exit.

But I found myself thinking about Ghrudur's words. His outburst stung milady, and her worries, I was beginning to find, were my own as well.

* * *

Oswin assisted me in assembling tempting enough morsels on a platter to take down to the Orc's cell. His presence kept the obstinate cook from abusing me, so I was able to gather meat with little fat left in, as well as bread made that morning rather than a day past. He confessed he would not be in my shoes were the King himself to ask it of him.

"Your mistress is terribly misguided, Dagga," he told me with a sigh as we made our way down the stairs. "If she wants him to eat so badly, we should just tie him down and force it. This coddling and coaxing business will avail us nothing."

"I would rather heed her wisdom in this," I replied loyally. "She knows an Orc's mind better than we. If he is to be won over, we must approach him in a certain way."

"Hmph," Oswin grunted. "What I know of Orcs implies that beating sense into him would be the preferred approach."

I stared at him, aghast. "You will do nothing of the kind! He is a living, breathing, thinking, _feeling_ creature in need of our help, and most assuredly our pity. We defeated his kind in fair battle; I should think we have compassion to spare."

Oswin rolled his eyes, yet restrained himself from making comment on my heated words. Perhaps they were a bit much, but at that moment, before meeting the Orc, I believed them. Yet I was trembling so that the platters rattled on the tray. This was worse than facing Ghrudur for the first time, many months ago. I feared him, most certainly, but there was a thread of hope within me that Lynn's influence might have tempered his foulness. Truly, there were no rumors of mischief committed by him, though many spoke ill of him and especially of milady. The people of Edoras could not, in good conscience, accuse him of committing an indignity upon anyone in the city, or of causing any sort of disruption of the peace.

Excepting, of course, the disturbance of his being an Orc in Edoras. That alone was crime enough, in many eyes.

This Orc, alas, had been captured in the wilds and showed great aggression. He required chains to protect those who guarded him. Though Oswin reassured me at least twice that the Orc could not lay hands on me or touch me in any way, I feared him.

Soon enough, we found ourselves outside the Orc's cell.

"There is not a shred of pity in all of Rohan to be spared for the likes of him," Oswin growled, and unlocked the door.

My first sight of the Orc was appalling. He hung by the wrists from chains bolted into the stone wall; the manacles held his arms wide apart. About his ankles were heavy shackles, also fastened to the wall by thick chains. Such secure bindings might have eased my heart, but for the spindly, wasted creature held by them.

He wore little more than a short vest that did not hide his prominent lower ribs or sunken belly. The strips of cloth he'd fashioned into a loincloth hung low on his hips, which protruded above the cloth. His legs were fleshless, and seemed by his dark skin to be little better than sticks insufficient to hold him upright. No better were his arms, splayed across the wall.

I do not believe he was even aware of our approach. His head hung down so that his chin must surely rest upon his chest, so spent was he. I could see by the way his legs were bent and his arms stretched that he was not supporting his own weight, and hung freely from arms too weak to hold him.

And the wound upon him! His belly, sunken and hollow, bore a slash gummed with the black blood of his kind. It looked to have only been cursorily tended, perhaps when he was laid low and brought hither, but not since.

Hard by the wall within his sight but just out of reach, rested a crude bed, and I could not help but recall milady's words. She'd said the Orcs had little recourse now, and few choices. They had been pushed from their hiding places and slaughtered at will following the war, so that they were running all the time. Trying to escape, to find a place of their own, to live... And yet we, their conquerors, denied them. Holding comforts just beyond their reach, and cutting off their hands if they came too close.

I stood there speechless for nearly a minute before he seemed to drift awake and slowly raise his head. He didn't speak at first; he simply glowered at me with such hate I could almost feel the hands he must surely wish to squeeze about my throat.

To my surprise, the Orc tried to stand. He expended a great effort to pull his thin legs under him, to straighten and face his captors with dignity.

" _Oshadhûr skaat hokarlat Uruk-shi matûrz_ ," he rasped through cracked lips and parched throat. I knew nothing of what he said, and guessed it was likely unpleasant, though I suppose he might have spoken flattering words and his tongue would still have rendered them in ugliness.

It seemed to be a struggle for him not only to stand, but to remain awake. His tirade against Lynn earlier must have extinguished what little strength remained within him. Weak he might be, at the threshold of death most assuredly, yet I could not entirely dismiss my fear of him. I carefully set the tray upon his bed, silencing the nervous rattling of crockery.

I glanced back to be certain Oswin had not abandoned me, and was reassured that he stood in the doorway. His stern expression might convince a Man to behave, but I was not so certain an Orc would heed him. Steeling my nerves, I reminded myself that if I did not succeed, milady would be distraught. I could not let her down. In truth, I felt also that I could not fail this Orc, either. If even one of his own rejected him, who could he rely upon to save him?

Taking a deep breath, I approached. His head bobbed almost drunkenly, and he blinked rapidly, undoubtedly trying desperately to remain aware. Perhaps even to stay alive. As I neared, he drew in a deep breath, squaring his shoulders and attempting, it seemed, to appear larger and more menacing than he was, rather like a cat confronted by a strange dog. I nearly wept.

"I am told," I said quietly, my voice echoing feebly in the dank cell, "that you understand my words. I do not understand yours. Please... drink, at least. I have brought water." I gestured to the tray, and the sweating flagon of cold water in the center.

His eyes were barely open, yet I could see them moving as he looked me over from head to toe. Even without words or expression, his scrutiny felt... invasive, for he lingered now and then, and his rasping breath grew heavy.

" _Rad ulu hiist sharlob âmbal_ ," he mumbled, " _nugakmogat-izish. Falat-izish. Dobat-izish. Nar kul-izg lagûrz thlûk?_ " As though merely speaking such incomprehensible words had exhausted him, his head hung low once more.

I confess I was so moved by him, that I placed my hand upon his heart. Béma, I could feel his bones! My gesture startled him, and he raised his head, a suspicious look on his face.

"I know you do not believe it," I told him gently, "but you are among friends. One of your own is mate to milady. We will help you, but you must let us do it." I turned from him to fetch a cupfull of water; my hands shook, for I'd resolved to place that cup to his lips, come what may.

When I presented the cup, I was not quite sure of his expression. He seemed confused, and his eyes, barely open, blinked rapidly. His head swayed on his thin neck. His lips were slightly parted, and short shallow breaths puffed from his mouth.

"Drink," I urged him, raising the cup. "A little. If not for me, then for yourself." Swallowing uncomfortably beneath his intent stare, I appealed to him, "I do not want to see you suffer. I must care for you now, for my lady's time is close. I am Dagga."

His eyes left my face and settled upon the cup, and the promise it held.

"If it would reassure you," I said timidly, and his yellow eyes flicked to mine, "milady bears an Orc-child. Its coming is anticipated with joy. The king himself eagerly awaits the birth. So you see... there is hope. There is... a place for you here. You needn't suffer."

As I spoke, his face took on surprise and disbelief, suspicion and distrust. Drawing back, he turned his head away and closed his eyes. I feared I had lost him, that he saw my words as lies meant to trick him. Casting about in desperation, I once more placed my hand upon his heart and begged him, "It is not surrender; it is survival. Do you not wish to live? Another day? Please drink, good Orc. One more day is all I ask of you."

He did not open his lids but a slit; I felt his gaze more than saw the dull sheen of his eyes in the torchlight.

" _Norkub-izg lat_ ," he whispered hoarsely, his lip curved in a sneer. " _Agh baal lat-sha. Urgaiub foshân-izub thlûn-lab-ishi. Durub-lab kulubat zriiûrz za-irzi?_ " He chuckled, his voice so weak it seemed a breath alone. " _At kul nar stazg-izish-ûr shara-shar._ "

Regardless of what words he spoke – insult or delirious rambling – I held the cup closer. "I should like to see you another day," I told him. "Won't you please drink?"

He held my gaze for a long minute, peering from half-closed lids, watching me. I felt as though he was searching for something, perhaps the lie he was certain I told. I endeavored to fill my thoughts, and so my eyes, with concern for his welfare. He must have found only my heart's bleeding for his plight, and no trickery, for he slowly nodded.

Speaking no words, and indeed making no indication of my pleasure at seeing him yield even so little, I brought the cup to his lips and slowly tipped the water into his mouth. Like a baby bird, he suckled at the rim of the cup, whimpering with desperation as he drank. I feared he might become ill, and found myself stroking his gaunt cheek, urging him to slow down. Water spilled over his chin and ran down his chest, yet he paid it no mind. I dutifully refilled the cup several times, until he was well satisfied.

After he'd drunk his fill, his countenance became troubled. He had the look of one who has done something he hadn't intended, and feels shame for it. Gradually, for he hadn't the strength for swiftness of any sort, his face contorted with anger and he grimaced, baring his teeth.

" _Ukh kraat-izish-ghaara_ ," he snarled. " _Lat nar tabz-izish. Nar kul-izg snaga-lab, nar kul-izg horngaz-lab. Nar dorozgub-izg lat-u. Nar kramp norkat-izish ana-u matum-ob agh atish-izish ta-ghaara_."

There did not appear to be any use in lingering. I had been a servant for many years; I knew a dismissing tone when I heard it. Taking the tray of uneaten food, I backed out of the cell. The Orc's eyes held mine for only a few moments before his chin dropped once more to his chest. Oswin shut the door and locked it.

"That was quite... amazing," he told me as we made our way back to the upper halls. "I did not think he would take anything we offered him."

I sighed and could not answer for a moment. "This is no victory, Oswin. He is hurting, and my lady is right: he is frightened. I think he is more afraid of accepting his fate than he is of dying an agonizingly slow death."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Lat nargzab honat nûl kraiat-izish! = You want to see me suffer [feel pain]!
> 
> Oshadhûr skaat hokarlat Uruk-shi matûrz. = Another come to laugh at the dead Orc
> 
> Rad ulu hiist sharlob âmbal nugakmogat-izish. Falat-izish. Dobat-izish. Nar kul-izg lagûrz thlûk? = Now they send a beautiful female to torment me. Tempt me. Make me weak. Am I not broken enough?
> 
> Norkub-izg lat. Agh baal lat-sha. Urgaiub foshân-izub thlûn-lab-ishi. Durub-lab kulubat zriiûrz za-irzi? At kul nar stazg-izish-ûr shara-shar. = I will take you. And mate with you. Put my own whelp in your belly. Would your king be pleased by that? There is no place for me among Men.
> 
> Ukh kraat-izish-ghaara. Lat nar tabz-izish. Nar kul-izg snaga-lab, nar kul-izg horngaz-lab. Nar dorozgub-izg lat-u. Nar kramp norkat-izish ana-u matum-ob agh atish-izish ta-ghaara. = Get away from me. You don't own me. I'm not your slave, I'm not your pet. I will not surrender to you. Don't take me to the edge of death and keep it from me.


	5. The Undaunted Defender of the Fortress

When I returned alone to milady's chambers, for Oswin's duties called him elsewhere, she was in conference with a Rider. As befit my station, I kept my eyes down and saw to ensuring her bedclothes were tucked properly about her legs. As they talked, I went about my usual tasks in a distracted manner, for they were speaking of the Orc belowstairs.

Ghrudur was not present, and Lynn's face showed strained worry.

"Did they all... look like him?"

The Rider seemed slightly uncomfortable, and his eyes darted. Milady was too distracted by her recent discovery of her mate's feelings to notice.

"No others were like him in stature, ma'am," he reported tightly. I frowned, for I recalled Oswin saying just the opposite. I lingered nearby, anxiously eavesdropping on their conversation and paying no attention to the decorative bowl I idly polished. "All fought viciously, in particular their leader, who was more formidable. By his hand, two of my fellows were slain before we brought him down."

"They all fought you," she said quietly.

"Yes," the Rider nodded. "We followed their trail and struck the camp. The one we spared... he possessed no weapon. The other three came at us with crude blades. The leader bore two himself."

Milady chuckled dryly. "Probably saved this guy's life by hogging all the swords. So... how did you take him? He looks like he was wounded. Was that one of you?"

"Apologies, ma'am," the Rider replied somewhat sheepishly. "He seemed bent upon joining his fellows, or defending himself in any way he was able. He..." Swallowing, the man bowed his head for a moment and cleared his throat. "I confess," he continued, his voice gruff, "I felt... shame for having done so. Your Ghrudur has shoed my horse, and has always been... agreeable. I saw these Orcs and... for the first time in many years, I saw not the suffering of my own people, but the suffering of theirs."

"Thank you, Eadwig," milady whispered gratefully.

Eadwig nodded. "I struck his head with the hilt of my sword, and... I suppose he was so weak from... He was easily felled. Cyneric and I were obliged to speak on his behalf among the _eored_ , and insist that he be spared."

Milady's distraction surely blinded her to his expressions, else she would have seen the guilty blush staining his cheeks. I wondered at it, but it was not my place to speak out of turn among my betters.

"Then you tied him up and brought him home," Lynn summarized for him, and Eadwig nodded.

"He regained his senses not long after we set out, and was most difficult to manage," the Rider continued. "None could get near, for he kicked and bit. He writhed so on the horse's back, we were forced to make him walk several miles."

Now milady raised her head and pierced him with the sort of look I might expect from a hound that has caught a whiff of prey. I was taken aback; I hadn't thought she was paying such close attention.

"Walk?" she prompted.

Eadwig held himself rigidly under her scrutiny, and swallowed several times. His jaw clenched and ground, and my alarm grew.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied stiffly, and with grim finality. " _Walk_."

She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Placing her hands on the pillow behind her, she leaned forward over her swollen belly. I confess, I clutched my throat in anxious concern, for she looked likely to rise from the bed and do harm to this man, in spite of her delicate condition.

I knew the next moment that there was nothing delicate about Lynn.

"Don't think for one minute," she hissed through clenched teeth, "that I don't know what a fat pack of lies you just puked on my floor. I don't know who the hell you're protecting, but it isn't that Orc. Care to change your story again? Or maybe tell me the _right_ one?"

My eyes darted between them – the furious woman and the defiant man. His brow furrowed and his eye twitched; I was not entirely certain that he was not tempted to answer truthfully. He seemed to be weighing and considering. In the end, he made his decision clear.

"I have said all I can say on the matter," he replied. Nodding stiffly, he said, "Ma'am." Then he turned and left the room. I watched until his cloak disappeared down the hall before looking to milady. She had sagged against her pillows and was staring at the ceiling.

"Are you well?" I cried, hurrying to her side. I took up her hand and sat on the edge of the bed. "Shall I fetch you a cup of water?"

"Whiskey would be better," she muttered. When she raised her head, she worried her brow with her free hand and gripped mine hard with the other. "I'll bet they dragged that Orc behind a horse." Her chin quivered, and she bit her lip.

"No!" I protested, utterly dismayed. "How could they? Surely not!" To think our brave, honorable _eorlingas_ would do such a cruel thing... "Surely not."

"I don't know," she muttered shakily. "Something happened. Something he's not telling. Something that made them change their story. I'm guessing their... 'warrior's code' is keeping him silent." Gazing up at me through tear-filled eyes, she whispered, " _Please_ tell me you pulled a miracle out of your hat, and he's eating."

Hesitating only a moment, which was enough to urge tears to fall, I rallied and told her what news I could. "Not quite eating, milady, but I coaxed him to drink. He was quite thirsty."

"Oh good," she breathed, leaning back against the pillows again. "You keep after him. Whatever you're doing, don't stop. Don't give up on him, okay?" She fixed me with a desperate look that nearly brought forth my own tears.

"I shan't, milady," I assured her with a smile I hoped was cheerful. "He shall have no greater champion in all of Edoras."

"Dagga," she said softly, her brow creasing with worry once more, "I want you to think about something. This very thing happened to me. Ghrudur was helpless and hurt. He was frightened and alone. I only wanted to fix him because it wouldn't be right not to. He let me in so I could reach him, and I let him in so I could heal him." She gripped my hand firmly. "Unless you're prepared to go all the way, don't do what I did."

Her gaze was so intense, I faltered in confusion. "What are you saying, milady?" I breathed.

"I'm saying that, if you aren't careful about your feelings," she replied slowly, "you might... lose yourself the way I did."

"Are you lost, milady?" I whispered worriedly.

"Yes," she nodded. "But not alone. Not yet."

Seeing her troubled countenance, I could not contain myself any longer. I fished out my kerchief and dabbed at the tears sliding down her cheeks. "There now, milady. He is devoted to you utterly. He could not be more proud of the child you carry. I cannot imagine him wanting to leave either of you, no matter the harsh words he hears."

"Thanks," she said, smiling sadly. "If they'd just... call _him_ names, I don't think he'd care, but... because it's me..."

"He is _your_ champion," I remarked, and she nodded.

"A champion who can't carry a sword to protect his lady love," she replied bitterly. "And isn't allowed to defend her with words, either. Nobody hears him."

"I hear him," I insisted, squeezing her hand. "Eomer King hears him. Marshall Gamling hears. Erna and Holger hear."

"Apparently," she murmured, bowing her head, "they aren't enough." Sighing, she looked up at me again. "No one is prepared when their heart gets stolen, Dagga."

"I shall vigilantly guard mine, milady. My heart is within a mighty fortress he shall not breech. Rest assured." I spoke with the confidence of youth, and Lynn rightly arched her brow skeptically. Her doubt only strengthened my self-assurance, for I believed myself stronger and more capable than a woolly-headed little girl easily swayed by a kind word, a gentle hand, and a handsome face. Because the Orc possessed none of these qualities, I thought myself quite safe. Well-protected, in fact.

"Good luck with that," Lynn murmured, a slight smile on her face.

* * *

A night spent in thoughtful worry urged me to make a bold attempt with the Orc on the morn. I engaged Oswin in hauling a bucket of warm water while I carried the tray down the stairs. I was nervous; while bathing a man was not outside my experience, laying hands upon an Orc was. This would prove to be more intimate than simply resting my hand upon his breast as I'd done the day before, but his condition, and indeed his healing, required some effort to be made.

From my shoulder I'd hung a bag containing the ingredients for a healing poultice, as well as the means to secure it to his wound. I reasoned that he might appreciate company in the dank cell; perhaps by spending time with him, he might bend, and so I did not prepare the poultice ahead.

When I entered the cell, the Orc could barely get one leg under him. I could see by the hollowness of his eyes that he'd passed a grim, sleepless night.

"Oswin," I said quietly as we lay our burdens down, "can they not let him down at night, at least?"

"Nay. He is too dangerous to be set loose, even here," the man replied, gesturing about the cell.

This would not do at all. "How can you look at him and say that?" I demanded angrily. "He can barely hold his head up!"

"Marshall Gamling's orders," Oswin said shortly. "Until this beast shows some measure of civility, he is to remain bound." Glowering at the Orc, he added, "I have seen no change in him."

Glancing over my shoulder, I saw that the Orc's head was raised, though wobbling feebly on his thin neck. His eyes bore the same hate as the day before as he glared at Oswin. No, he had not changed. Not yet.

"Very well," I conceded, fetching a washing cloth and soaking it in the water we'd brought.

"Mind his teeth," the guard warned as I approached the Orc. Then he crossed the cell and stood quite close by. "If you'll be washing his filthy face, I'll hold him."

"Yes, I believe I will begin with...," I started to say, only to falter when Oswin grabbed a fistful of the Orc's sparse hair. He was not gentle; when the Orc growled threateningly and tried to snap, Oswin yanked his head back to strike against the wall, and held him there. "Oswin!"

"Get on with it," he said through grit teeth, holding not just the Orc's head but his gaze as well.

" _Durbûrz shara, hûrûrz shara, drîtûrz shara_ ," the Orc snarled tauntingly, his violently furious eyes never leaving Oswin's. " _Baduzg sharlob amol lat hûrûrz kul. Ikh to nargzabat-lat. Ushd-izish ikhat sharlob lat kaam-ishi, hûrûrz shara._ "

"Speak common, or I'll rip out your tongue," Oswin hissed. "Dagga, wash him quickly. I can't stand his stench much longer."

"Yes, sir," I said automatically. Though my hands shook, I gripped the wet cloth firmly and touched it to the Orc's cheek. He nearly freed himself from Oswin's grip when he swiveled his head around to glare at me. In spite of desperately wanting to withdraw, I froze instead, my hand still pressed to his face. "I am... I am going to wash you. As much as I am able." I had to take a deep breath or two under the Orc's harsh scrutiny before I could continue. "Then... I am going to see to your wound."

The Orc stared at me for several moments, his brow bunching and twitching in uncertain spasms. I wasn't quite sure what he might be thinking, except it seemed that he debated whether to continue defying us both, or just Oswin. I took the opportunity of his indecision to lightly scrub his cheek.

Layers of dirt and sweat came off each moment as I washed him. So weary was the Orc, that after I left his face and began wiping down his neck, his eyes were half-closed and he seemed close to nodding off. When I peeled back one side of his ragged vest and applied the warm water to his chest, he groaned quietly and seemed to purr like a cat. I had to hide my smile; I'd never heard of an Orc making such a sound!

His eyes closed completely then, and Oswin slowly released his hold. I continued to wash the Orc's chest and belly, then his legs, the only sounds in the cell being the drip of the water, the scrape of cloth on the Orc's hide, and that growling purr. When I'd done what I considered a satisfactory job, the Orc spoke.

" _Lat nariinuz ghru-izub_ ," he muttered in a low, relaxed voice. " _Shaplag ghru-izub, hûr-izg lat. Rok ta zatal paash-izg lat kramp ta. Narkû lat graurub ghru shara-ob, lat grauruz-la ghru Uruk-ob._ " One side of his mouth was tipped up a touch, as though he smiled at his own private joke.

Not understanding his words, I reluctantly ignored them, though it seemed terribly impolite to do so. "There now," I said as brightly as I could manage. "This will take me some time, but it is the best thing for a wound such as yours. Would you like a drink before I begin?"

Without waiting for a response, I fetched a cupful of water and held it to his mouth. Where for a moment he seemed relaxed and approachable, now his defenses were back in full force. He pressed his lips tightly together and turned his head away. "I see," I said, my disappointment likely clear in my voice. "I will get to work, then, shall I?"

Clearing a space on the bed between the tray and the bag, I set about mixing the herbs into a paste. Oswin leaned against the opposite wall and kept his eyes on the Orc. Soon the foul smells of the dungeon were overwhelmed by the scent of kingsfoil, and I was reminded of days not long past.

"There is a tale that may amuse you," I said conversationally as I worked. "As you likely know, my people hold our horses in quite high esteem. We know their lineages as well as we know our own. It is believed that Béma, our most important spirit, rides upon Nahar, the greatest of all horses and from whom, it is believed, our horses descend. Every now and then, there comes a horse of great beauty and nobility, one which we say is Béma's steed come to walk among mortals. Just such a one is Shadowfax."

I glanced up from my mortar to gauge the Orc's attentiveness, and found that, while his head was bowed and he seemed otherwise indifferent, his ear was pricked like a horse's, listening. I pursed my lips to hide my smile.

"Now, Shadowfax is greatly desired as a mount of kings," I went on. "For years, Théoden King sought to tame him, and by so doing, claim him as his own. He knew that if he rode the likes of Shadowfax into battle, he could not be defeated. Yet he was obliged to content himself with Snowmane, a truly noble beast in his own right. When Shadowfax finally accepted a rider, it was not a Rohirrim, and certainly not a king, who earned his allegiance. Can you guess who it might have been?"

I truly did not expect an answer from the Orc, and he gave me none, but he raised his head and met my gaze. The poultice was ready, so I rose from the little bed and pressed it to his wound. His eyes never left mine.

"He was won over by a wizard," I said softly, and the Orc frowned. "A wizard who, better than my people, understood the noble spirit of Shadowfax, and sought him in friendship rather than mastery. He laid no saddle upon the horse's back, nor did he bind him with bridle and reins. Shadowfax bore him into battle as an equal." I wrapped a bandage around the Orc's waist to hold the poultice in place. "We learned the lesson well, I and my folk. We seek only your friendship, Orc. Not mastery over you."

He stared at me for several moments. I felt his uncertainty, and sensed that he was not entirely at ease, as though he longed for something he would not allow himself to possess, or doubted it was within my or anyone's power to grant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Durbûrz shara, hûrûrz shara, drîtûrz shara. Baduzg sharlob amol lat hûrûrz kul. Ikh to nargzabat-lat. Ushd-izish ikhat sharlob lat kaam-ishi, hûrûrz shara. = Strong man, brave man, honest man. Show the woman how brave you are. Make her want you. Use me to get the woman into your bed, brave man.
> 
> Lat nariinuz ghru-izub. Shaplag ghru-izub, hûr-izg lat. Rok ta zatal paash-izg lat kramp ta. Narkû lat graurub ghru shara-ob, lat grauruz-la ghru Uruk-ob. = You forgot my cock. Wash my cock, I dare you. Hold it so I can see you do it. You'll never touch a man's cock, after you've touched an Orc's.


	6. One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

"Here, now," I told the Orc firmly. "If you will do nothing else, at least take water as you did yestereve. Surely you thirst most terribly." Raising the cup once more to his mouth, I gave him my most encouraging look. The Orc's brow furrowed and as he'd done minutes earlier, he firmed his lips in a tight line.

"You waste your time," Oswin groused from the doorway. "Let him suffer, if it's his desire to do so."

"Perhaps you can bear to see it, but I cannot," I replied irritably. "Forgive me, Oswin, but if you will insist upon offering so little..."

"I have better things to do with my time and energy, miss," he retorted, "than to wait hand and foot on an ungrateful lout like this Orc. If he refuses to accept our help, so be it. Let him rot where he hangs. I'm done with him."

" _Latzaug-ishi? Zaug-izg kulat latzaug-ishi?_ " the Orc snarled. Though he barely had the wherewithal to do so, he straightened and pulled his legs under him, standing as best he could. " _Lat ikh-izish akrat matum-izub, agh zaug-izg kulat latzaug-ishi? Ur lat golmub-izish nûkhud?_ _Piil krum-ishi, shapat hosh-ishi, gaiumu agh bûrzum...!_ "

He might have said more, but his ragged throat was too dry, his body too weak to sustain his bluster. His words were cut off by a fit of coughing and choking. Thinking he might now take water, I offered the cup again, but he jerked his head to the side.

" _Paashnar-izg_ ," he rasped, his voice barely a whisper. " _Naryonk._ "

"Please," I begged quietly. "Do not let yourself die, good Orc." He narrowed his eyes and glared at me askance. I was close enough to hear his labored breathing. Close enough to see into the depths of his yellow eyes.

" _Sharlob âmbal,_ " the Orc breathed. He tried to moisten his lips, but his pale tongue was inadequate to the task. " _Lat ûs lat paash golmat-izish kulûk agh ta norkub-izg._ "

"Drink," I urged again. "A mouthful? That is not so much."

He frowned then, and narrowed his eyes. " _Hon-izg narzûr hontu-latub-ishiz_ _,_ " he murmured, seemingly in confusion. " _Lat ûs lat golm ghûlum-izish._ "

The probing look he gave me as he spoke in his grotesque tongue made me terribly nervous, and I swallowed with difficulty. I also found myself retreating a step, and feeling ashamed for it. He could do me no harm, such as he was. Truly, in his condition, I was in little danger from him were he free to walk about his cell. Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward again, my resolve firm once more.

"A drink only," I told him sternly. "If you please." Without giving him an option, or indeed a warning, I pressed the cup to his mouth and tipped it. The cool water at first ran over his tightly pressed lips, but I did not stop. After a moment, the contents were running down his chin and over his chest. Undaunted, I refilled the cup and repeated the gesture.

A slight smile was on his face when I returned after the second failure, and this time he let some water trickle past his lips. As though his defenses were once again unmade by the very thing his body so desperately needed, he gave in to his thirst and drank deeply.

Feeling profound relief, I withdrew and gazed at the neatly cut pieces of meat I'd brought, as well as the half-loaf of bread. I had little confidence that he would accept food, when it was such a struggle coaxing him to drink. Glancing at him, I saw his head was back against the wall, and he gasped as though he'd struggled against a mighty force for a long while. I was not entirely certain he was not within a heartbeat of weeping.

"Orc," I said gently, "what is your name?"

He slowly turned his head to look at me with the oddest expression on his face, as though mine was the last question he ever thought to be asked.

" _Ur lat nargzab bugud-izub-sha?_ " he muttered, half smiling again. " _Lat dushub ta-sha, shatraug? Ushdub ta kau-izish? Falub-izish kulat snaga-lab?_ " His words seemed to amuse him, for he grunted a brief laugh. " _Lat nar nargzab bugud-izub. Kul-izg snaga-lab rad._ _Naan shumnar kû-ûr_ _._ " The smile faded from his face as he closed his eyes and bowed his head.

"Very well," I conceded. "I will go unanswered today. But I will ask again. I hope in time you will trust me enough to know it." Tearing off a small piece of bread from the soft inside of the crusty loaf, I approached him. He didn't raise his head until I held the morsel under his nose. Then he jerked up and stared at what I held. "It is a small thing," I said softly. "Barely a mouthful. Just a taste is all I ask that you take. Just a taste."

Again, a smile played upon his lips, and this time it was accompanied by a truly appalling leer. " _Lat golmub-izish shiipog lat-ob? Paash-izg ushkat latub kambu-riz?_ "

"Whatever wickedness has crossed your mind," I warned him, my face hot, "had best leave it. I am here to see to your healing, not... other things."

Now he smiled broadly, and his laugh was deep and genuine. I confess, though I knew nothing of what he'd said, or had been saying, I found myself joining in his mirth. He'd shown nothing but anger for days; I was quite pleased to see him so amused.

I also popped that bit of bread into his mouth, since he'd left it open. Smirking daringly at him, I gave him an expectant look. To my surprise, he only hesitated a moment before he began to chew ever so slowly. How it must have pained him to appear casual and indulgent of his tormenter when instinct should have turned him into a ravening beast.

"Would you like more?" I asked gently. The Orc looked terribly undecided; he ground his jaw and furrowed his brow. "I will not give up, you know," I told him matter-of-factly. "I will see to your welfare on behalf of milady, and for your own sake. It is up to you whether my efforts will be met with cooperation or belligerance. Know this: I will not be thwarted from my task. You will recover your health, and I will see to it that you have a place here, just as Master Ghrudur does."

The Orc frowned, and stared at me for a long moment. Finally he spoke, and my heart nearly stopped, for he spoke the common tongue!

"You call an Orc 'master,'" he growled hoarsely.

Taking a deep breath, and endeavoring to appear unaffected by his inexplicable decision to be understood, I replied, "Yes. I serve him, as I do his lady."

He seemed to mull this notion over in his mind, and did not speak again for several minutes. So desperately did I want him to continue to speak, I found myself burbling to fill the silence. "He is quite an accomplished smith, I've been told. Very skillful. His blades have no equal. The King himself carries one of Ghrudur's swords. I've heard he has been asked to make a special sword for the king of Gondor as well. As a gift."

The Orc said nothing; he simply stared at me and shook his head in denial of my words.

"It is all true," I told him gently. "Had milady not found him in the wilds, he surely would have died. Now he forges blades for kings. His presence here has changed many hearts." Knowing this was not the full truth, I sighed and felt compelled to add, "Though not all. There are some who expect to see a beast when they look upon him, and so that is what they see. But he gives no one cause to treat him as one."

Smiling warmly, I went on, "He has lamented his past deeds, you see. For this reason, many look on him with kinder eyes. Many accept him, for he does not gloat or brag of evil he has done. He has begged forgiveness, and it has been granted. So you see, there is hope for you if you do the same."

Curling his lip, the Orc sneered. "Why should I?" he snarled. "I'm not sorry. Your people deserved everything I did to them." I was struck speechless and faltered. It seemed to be enough for him, as was the conversation, for he snorted derisively and said, " _Nar hasub-izg hinash kulûk-ûr. Nork lab 'gotlum' agh ikh ta sûr lab pugh. Ashbazg matuz-izg nargotlûrz snû slaiat parkulunkambu-iru._ "

* * *

"Wow," Lynn breathed when I told her all that had happened in the cell. "Well, what did I tell you? He speaks it just fine." She smiled wanly and rubbed her belly absently. I sat on the edge of her bed, nervously twisting a cloth in my hands. "At least you got some more water into him. That's the most crucial thing."

"Oh, I also rather tricked him into eating a bite of bread," I added.

"You scamp," she laughed. "Don't give up, Dagga."

"I shan't, milady." Yet I continued to wring the cloth, though it was quite dry. "Milady..."

"Lynn," she said sternly.

"Lynn," I sighed, "tell me, please. How is it... Ghrudur seems so... remorseful of his past, yet this Orc is defiant. I am certain they have both done their fair share of... mischief."

She nodded agreement. "I'm sure he has. I'm sure he's done things that would curl your toes and set your hair on end. So has Ghrudur." She shrugged rather helplessly. "It's a matter of perspective, isn't it?"

"I'm not sure what you mean," I replied hesitantly.

"Well, look at it this way," Lynn explained. "Would you ever in a million years call a Rider out for killing Orcs during the war? Would you criticize him or tell him he committed terrible sins engaging the servants of the Enemy in battle?"

"Of course not!" I cried, putting my hand to my heart. "It was war, milady. The Westfold was a bloody battlefield for years. Many lost their homes and families. I would never condemn a man for defending his kin, or his holdings."

"What about after the war?" she probed. "After Saruman was knocked down a notch and Sauron was trounced like a narc at a biker rally. Were we justified in hunting down the Orcs then?"

"Well, they were still attacking us," I reasoned awkwardly, for my understanding of these matters was from hearsay only. "Farms just rebuilding were assailed by raiding groups, weren't they? The kings – Éomer and Elessar – engaged Men to protect them."

She smiled slightly. "What everyone forgets is that the Orcs were under orders. _Their_ leaders told them where and when to strike. Just as the leaders of Men did. You weren't there after Helm's Deep, but I was. Théoden pardoned the Dunlendings who fought under Saruman's banner. He _forgave_ them, because they were Men. No quarter was given to the Orcs. None ever has been."

Leaning back against her pillows, Lynn's gaze drifted and her voice quieted. "I'm still surprised that Ghrudur feels anything like... shame for what he used to do. I don't demand it of him. I don't think he should feel ashamed for all of it, just... some things. But I don't think he needs to apologize to anyone. There was a war going on. He made the weapons that were used in it. He sometimes used them himself in the field. But he didn't give the orders, he didn't think up the strategies or make up the rules of engagement. He was a foot soldier; nothing more."

Looking at me with a wry expression on her face, she added, "Ask Oswin how many Orc heads he's put on pikes as an 'example.' Ask him how many times his patrol has found a migrating family and slain them to the last infant at its mother's breast. Ask him how many times he ran down a pregnant female and trampled her with his horse. Then ask yourself if this Orc has more to apologize for than Men."

* * *

Milady gave me much to think on as I descended once more at mid-day to attend the Orc. I found myself glancing frequently at Oswin by my side, wondering how much of Lynn's suggestions were, indeed, true of him. I recalled that when she found Ghrudur, she was engaged in hunting Orcs herself, and so had likely seen Men committing such terrible acts as she described. How could we call ourselves their betters, when we treated Orcs so cruelly? Had we become the Enemy we so despised, as we strove to rid the world of its stain?

My thoughts were in turmoil as Oswin unlocked the cell door and stood aside for me to enter. As before, the Orc hung from his wrist bindings, his weak legs bent beneath him. Only the small movement of his ribs told me he still lived. Setting the tray down, I rushed to the Orc and, forgetting myself, lifted his head, his chin cupped in my hands.

"Orc!" I called desperately. "Speak, if you are able."

His eyelids fluttered briefly, but did not fully open. His breath came in short, sharp gasps, too shallow to fill his lungs. His face was blazing hot to the touch. What little of his eyes I could see seemed unfocused; I was certain he did not recognize me. Glancing over my shoulder, I called out to Oswin, "Please, fetch Marshall Gamling. As quickly as you can."

"I'm not leaving you unguarded with...," he began, and I cut him off brusquely.

"Do as I ask!" I snapped. "Go now, and hurry!" Thankfully, Oswin grasped the urgency in my voice, and departed swiftly.

"There, there," I soothed, letting the Orc's chin rest upon his chest once more. "One moment." I fetched the cup and filled it. Lifting his head by pressing my hand to his forehead, I carefully trickled water between his slack lips. "Drink, good Orc. Please."

He choked weakly for a moment, then turned away. "Please," I breathed desperately. "You simply must drink. Please tell me you will. I beg you, good Orc."

"Mumma," he whispered, his voice ragged. "Mumma?"

I stood frozen, unsure what to do. Had he just called for his mother? The war was not so long ago, and my assistance to Erna at many a deathbed not so poorly recalled, that I did not take his plea for one made on the point of death. A sob escaped me unexpectedly. "Good Orc, please!"

"Béma's balls," the Marshall growled from the doorway. I hadn't heard the men's approach, so aggrieved was I by the Orc's plight. Rounding on Oswin, Marshall Gamling snapped, "Why did no one tell me he was in _this_ condition?" Without waiting on an answer, Marshall Gamling strode forward and pulled a set of keys from his belt. I hastily withdrew a fair distance, for Oswin came to ease the Orc down from the wall once the shackles were unlocked.

"Remove these filthy rags," Gamling ordered, and Oswin leaned the nearly unconscious Orc upon his shoulder as he peeled away the homespun vest. I thought I had seen the worst in his belly wound, until his thin back was revealed.

When I beheld Ghudur's whip marks, they were old and long healed. This Orc's welts were a mix of old and fresh. There were maggots crawling in the wounds, with a blackened crust over many. I felt quite faint, and unable to register even modest shock when Oswin loosened and removed the Orc's soiled loincloth.

I was startled when the Marshall pushed the tray into my surprised hands so that Oswin could lay the Orc down. A blanket was draped over the Orc's wasted form, and Gamling rubbed his face as he stared. The Orc didn't speak, nor did his eyes open. The sound of his struggling breaths told me he lived, but only just.

"Wymond's report said nothing of this," the Marshall muttered, shaking his head. "He said 'thin,' not wasted. What else has he kept quiet?"

"If you please, sir," I ventured timidly, my voice sounding hollow in the silent cell as I fought to overcome the shock of the Orc's condition and rally to his side, "one of the Men told milady he was the only one in such dire straits, yet Oswin learned a different tale. Didn't you, Oswin?" I turned to the guard and implored him with my eyes. Surely he wouldn't speak a falsehood to the Marshall of the Mark!

"Well?" Gamling prompted when Oswin stood speechless for too long. "I've not known Dagga to tell lies. What did you learn?"

"Apologies," Oswin said quietly. "What I told Miss Lynn and Miss Dagga... I learned last evening... I was in error. Only this Orc, of the four, was as you see him. Clearly the least of the four, and given very little. Not even a weapon, when they were attacked."

"That is not what you told us!" I cried indignantly. I appealed to Marshall Gamling. "He told us three of the four were in this condition. How could the Men have been so mistaken?"

"They simply were," Oswin hissed, glaring at me. "That is all that can be said." His eyes seemed to plead, but I knew not for what.

"We shall see," Gamling growled angrily. "See to this Orc, Oswin. If he is not well enough to answer questions in two days' time, it will be on your head." Turning briefly to me, the Marshall nodded shortly, then turned on his heel and left.

"You should have held your tongue, Dagga," Oswin muttered when we were alone.

"How could I?" I demanded hotly. "What is being hidden? Was the Orcs' defeat not so heroic as they claimed?"

"I can't speak of what I was told," he snapped. "You would do well to forget what I said before."

Frowning, I said, "I can't. I don't understand why I must."

"There are reasons," he told me uncomfortably. "Reasons I've been... that I cannot speak of."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Latzaug-ishi? Zaug-izg kulat latzaug-ishi? Lat ikh-izish akrat matum-izub, agh zaug-izg kulat latzaug-ishi? Ur lat golmub-izish nûkhud? Piil krum-ishi, shapat hosh-ishi, gaiumu agh bûrzum...! = Grateful? I should be grateful? You make me drink my death, and I should be grateful? What will you give me next? An arrow in the back, a sword in the gut, chains and darkness...!
> 
> Paashnar-izg. Naryonk. = I cannot. No more.
> 
> Sharlob âmbal. Lat ûs lat paash golmat-izish kulûk agh ta norkub-izg. = Pretty woman. You think you can give me anything and I will take it.
> 
> Hon-izg narzûr hontu-latub-ishiz. Lat ûs lat golm ghûlum-izish. = I see no cunning in your eyes. You think you are being kind to me. (literally 'giving help')
> 
> Ur lat nargzab bugud-izub-sha? Lat dushub ta-sha, shatraug? Ushdub ta kau-izish? Falub-izish kulat snaga-lab? Lat nar nargzab bugud-izub. Kul-izg snaga-lab rad. Naan shumnar kû-ûr. = What do you want with my name? Will you work your magic with it, witch? Use it against me? Charm me to be your slave? You don't need my name. I'm already your slave. But not for much longer.
> 
> Lat golmub-izish shiipog lat-ob? Paash-izg ushkat latub kambu-ri? = Will you offer me a taste of you? May I feast between your legs?
> 
> Nar hasub-izg hinash kulûk-ûr. Nork lab 'gotlum' agh ikh ta sûr lab pugh. Ashbazg matuz-izg nargotlûrz snû slaiat parkulunkambu-iru. = I will not beg anyone for anything. Take your 'forgiveness' and shove it up your ass. I would rather die unforgiven than live on my knees [literally 'bent leg'].


End file.
